


A True Pacifist, A Good Person

by Starsight (crownhearted)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownhearted/pseuds/Starsight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

Breathe in.

You're a good person.

They tell you that because you try so hard to seem one. You've carefully cultivated a world full of images and letters around you so that everyone has to associate goodness with you, and you with it. You do the right things, you donate to charity and are gentle with even those who slight you. You see all sides of the story and you anoint the people on the ends of those stories with your kind smile and your kind eyes and the kind of kindness people write parables for.

 

Breathe out.

You're not a good person.

You work so hard to make the words twist just right, to keep up the image, and that alone means you are not a good person. It does not come easily to you to be kind. It takes immeasurable strength and a sadness in you wells up all the time in the dark. In the end it is always dark, and you always go to bed alone, and there is nobody to tell you that the truth is wrong, so you believe it. You are not a good person. If you were a good person, you would not scream obscenities in your mind at the people you love, you would not want to slice the razor-sharp edges of your twice-bitten tongue against their cheeks and see them cry the way you cry, see them hurt the way you hurt. If you were a good person you would never want your pains to reflect in the eyes of people who mean well and who love you.

But how _dare they_ try to leave you, _  
(even if the whites of their eyes and the circles under them say they were never going to)_

and how can anyone _expect_ you to be perfect,  
 _(even though nobody does and its All In Your Head it got there somehow didn't it)_  
and did anyone even think to _ask you_ if you could handle...

_(no, they didn't, because your permission isn't required and never has been.)_

 

You're a good image of a good person. You like the rain and you smile at strangers. You play with children and laugh just like one. You speak in soft voices to loud people. You like baby animals and, like the best people, you put others before yourself.

Yes, you are a carefully cultivated image of a good person, but you are _not_ a _**good person**_.

You are selfish, you are cruel, you are tired. You are a person but barely. You have made all the right choices and arrived at the end but the true friends, few and far between, suffer at the slices of your mouth, they are bruised by your wild fists landing blow after blow to yourself but only ever hitting them hardest, they are unseated from comfort and, tiredly, they shamble into the ring again to fight the battle you keep thinking is against yourself. They play referee and opponent both, and sometimes they even play your coach without meaning to. They whisper that you are good and it makes you angry because you are not, they whisper that you are beautiful and it makes you sad because you are not, they whisper that they will always be there and it makes you wish that it was true.

 

You're just bad at being good and someday you will stop trying to push against the grain and accept it.

They are right.

Every human is horrible, and if you simply allow that fact to wash over your broken bones, you will heal and become a machine, and then you will be among the rest of the horrible people and you will be, at least, the Best horrible person, and you will be better at honesty. You will look at the world with new eyes and you will see that embracing this fact- the fact that you are not a good person- was the best thing you could ever have done.

 

You will feel no remorse, and you will have no friends, and you will never have to fight yourself again.

Just the rest of the world.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone got the story wrong; Chara is not the troubled one.

 

You are twenty-three, and it is your birthday, and the end of the eventful celebrations have brought you- pitiful, mutilated you- to sit cross-legged on your little twin-sized bed, a mess. Confetti, wrapping paper, ribbon, and the remnants of happiness lay strewn all along the little cottage home you built for yourself, out of wood and time and a yearning for distraction. You built this place, but you don't feel home in it, and you never liked that.

Your vision is fuzzy and you can see that your legs are covered in dirt and scrapes like you're still twelve and this is still acceptable. Your fingers are coated in half-washed reminders that today you ran and ran with people who made you happy but also, made you very dizzy, and you fell quite a lot. You have six, seven, eight band-aids of all colors on your left leg, and nine, ten, no just nine, on your right. Your party hat is holding the wrappings and it is on the ground now. Your peripheral catches the brightness of the pattern and you look at it instead of at yourself.

You've never been able to stand looking at yourself.

You let Chara take your hands and smooth them with their own fingers. They don't have anything to say right now. They put all the band-aids on because that's all Chara really knows how to do, when you get hurt on the outside. You don't mind. It's charming and you love them for it.

They rub their fingers over your knuckles and you want to rip your hands away in disgust, but you know that the meaning will not be understood. You are not disgusted with Chara, you are disgusted with yourself.

The sun is setting everything on fire in the light, and you wonder for a moment what the world would be like if you burned it to the ground. The roots, the real truth of everything would be revealed. Nobody would be able to hide anymore. When Chara finally speaks- just says your name- and puts their hand on your chin to make you look at them, you barely breathe. Your eyes meet theirs and there is a sensation in your gut you can't ignore.

You can _feel_ the change taking place inside of you, right now, and it's rare that you ever notice it. It's akin to a little needle, a pinhole being poked through your heart, and the utter _despair_ drips in through it, floods your chest cavity, your ribs, your lungs. You can feel it, slow and steady, drip-drop-drip-drop. It is making the levels rise, it is making everything wrong.

When the pool becomes an ocean it spills out through your eyes, first. The sorrow falls from your lashes despite how you try to hold it back. Then Chara talks even more.

"Frisk, I love you."  
They are falling slowly, curving over your cheekbones, dripping down your jaw.  
"I don't know why..." You don't know what else to say. It's true.

"Because you are kind, and good, and wonderful." They tuck hair behind your ear and the tides turn, but come back stronger, and the feelings fall faster, bigger and fatter drops of it tumbling down your face and making a mess of your crossed, dirty ankles.

"I'm not, Chara...I'm _not_. I'm- I only want everyone to think I'm good, I only did good things so that people would think I was good...I - didn't do it because I _am_ good. I'm awful, Chara, I'm rotten and terrible and I don't deserve you, or this, or _anything_."

"You are certainly allowed to feel that way. You are not wrong to feel those things, Frisk. But you _must_ know, whoever you are and whoever you think you are, _I_ love you."

"I'm sorry," You move your hands up to your face and itch the damp streaks viciously. You scratch so hard it almost cuts, but Chara lightly takes your wrists and tugs them back into your lap. You still.

"You do not have to apologize, Frisk. You have done nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry that I love you, I'm sorry that you can't do anything while I love you, I'm sorry I need you so much."

"Oh, Frisk..." You sense weariness in that tone, you sense a sigh that Chara is holding back, but you don't say anything. You just bow your head and keep letting the feelings flood out from your eyes. They've already spilled out of your mouth, there are no orifices left for them to crawl out of, and you hate yourself for even doing this.

"You deserve so much better." You choke your own breath. You swear the despair is filling your lungs now, too. "You're so kind to me, you're so good, you're so _good_ Chara- and I- I'm just _desperate._ "

Chara seems to have given up talking. You don't think that's how they'd want you to see it, but right now, you can't see anything. The tiny opening where all that sorrow has been dripped into your heart and your whole body has been opened and closed a thousand times, yet, here you are again. There has always been something comforting in the sound, drip-drop-drip-drop, and maybe that's why- pathetic, mutilated, dirty, desperate you- never stop it even though it causes such chaos. Instead you would rather watch the world disappear as your drown in it.

That's how it feels. Drowning. You are drowning in your own emotions, the vicious cycle you've created for yourself and everyone caught in your swirling whirlpool. You are the Bermuda Triangle, and nobody leaves alive.

 

Maybe Chara is different because they are dead, and only a dead thing could love you.

 


	3. Chapter 3

You are a _covetous_ thing.

 

You want what everyone has, and that is why, when faced with a world of monsters supposedly long-buried, dangerous but real, you fought for them instead of against them. You wanted the glory of the soldiers on the surface. You wanted the respect of the government officials on television. You wanted the star-eyed, golden-lined gorgeousness of the stars in movies. You wanted, you consumed, you _ravaged_ and everyone said it was _**because you are good.**_

But you know the truth.

You are not good, you are _**covetous**_.

You bleed dry the ripped-open wound of the world, you suck the red from it and use it to paint your black heart red, and then everyone thinks that's your SOUL. The truth of it is, everyone has blood all wrong. Everyone thinks blood is red and that is what killers use to masterfully conceal their darkened insides, but _you_ know that blood is only ever _blue_ , and what's really red isn't punishable by electric chair, and won't get you sentenced to life in prison. Red is the way you pretended not to see Toriel crying instead of going in to comfort her. Red is smiling too tightly at Alphys' newest dress because it is the same shade as your new shirt and you don't want her to go to _your_ party wearing the same color, she is prettier and you are going to be the center of attention until someone prettier comes along. You knew that smile would make her worry and change. You knew and you wanted it gone without being the bad guy.

That's red. That's the color of your soul. The nasty, spiteful little things nobody talks about; not murder, not bruises, not maniacal laughter.

You crave attention, praise, limelight, laughter. You will have it at all costs. The climb uphill was worth it when you emerged hours later triumphant, and no, you did not care about the sunset or the monsters on either side of you; you wanted to rush down that hill _screaming_ for the news to see, for your hometown to hear. You wanted to show the world how worthy you were of accolades and comfort and worship. Even then, though, that would not have been so bad- if you had ever stopped _there_.

But a covetous thing like you, oh, you don't know _how_ to stop!

You gorge yourself on appreciation and martyrdom. That's why, crying and hysterical and wracked with yourself, you destroy a feather pillow and relish in the mess. You are all Chara can pay attention to. Chara will not take their eyes off of you. If you throw this fit _they have to help you_ , it is _promised_ attention that you crave and they are always there to give it. Sure enough, they catch your whirlwind arms and 'calm you down' even though this is all you wanted, you just wanted them to look at you and only you. You wanted _someone_ to limit themselves for just you.

You breathe hard and let them kiss your warm forehead and you slump into their arms and let them hold you. You cry and tell them you're sorry some more, that you wish they didn't have to do this for you, that you're a horrible creature who needs more than anyone could ever give you. They assure you that is not the case, and like always, recite the mantra of kindness and compassion everyone thinks _you_ are well-known for. When you mention this, Chara laughs and asks where you think they got it from. You laugh too, and call each other names until it's dark and you are half-asleep.

Chara will always belong to you.

"I wonder how Alphys is doing with that project." they say into the silver streak of moon lighting up the ceiling above the window near the bed. You shift, uncomfortable, and recall the project which would give Chara their own, physical body, but somehow keep your own SOUL in-tact. Tied, but separate. Chara wants to see their mother, have their mother see them, after all these years. Finally, they are ready- they have been ready. Two years ago. But if Chara had their own body, if Chara was their own person, if Chara could be seen by others and interact with the world- the blinders would be removed. As of now, they are _**yours**_ _and yours_ _ **alone**_. You don't want to give that up. You aren't strong enough- you _can't_ let that happen. They will break free of your cruel chains and find another to love, to be preoccupied with, to dote upon. They will have friends that go to the movies without you, they will form relationships you are not part of. They will look at someone _besides you_ , and they will finally see what a terrible, disgusting creature they have been sharing a SOUL with, and they will spend their sunlit days laughing with purity and kindness and gentility and humility you have never possessed.

"I dunno. I hope she gets done soon." You lie and decide not to tell Chara that Alphys had nearly completed that project a year ago when her progress was halted by a mysterious flaw in the coding of the machine she had built, and she had to start all over, unsure of where that flaw was located or why it had come to exist at all.

She should have never given the password to such a covetous thing as you.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"I am _sick._ "

You whisper the words like fire and grapple with their arms and legs. You rip their sweater and feel the fibers scatter somewhere else.

"No, I am _sickness._ I am _poison_ from the inside out, Chara." You are snarling the words so low they're almost inaudible, but you're positive the person under your smooth hands hears them. You know they do, because they look so tired, and you hate yourself for making them this way. You hate yourself for doing what you're doing now, but you can't stop, either.

Which makes you hate yourself _**even more**_.

You finally pin them down. You sit on their thighs so they cannot kick as well and you hold down their wrists on either side of their head so that they cannot get you to stop. You tighten your grip, not enough to bruise but enough to say that _were you not a pacifist, you_ _ **would**_ _._

"I am going to take, and take, and take from you, until you are empty and I am full and _**I**_ control what you get, I am always going to be above you, above everyone- you will rely on me and I will love it. I am sickness _itself_ and I _will_ _ **not**_ _be_ _ **cured**_ _._ "

You watch the love drain from their eyes. You desperately will it to come back, but fear has replaced it. Chara is afraid of you.

 _As they always should have been_.

You sink your teeth into the feeling of power and overwhelming possibility of the moment. Chara is helpless beneath you. Chara is dependent on you. You think about wrapping your hands around their neck and controlling their _life_ , too- and that's when you know you are dreaming.

Chara is not alive.

* * *

 

You wake up slowly. It's sunrise. Chara is moving about the room in what feels like slow-motion, and you recall that today is the day the whole 'family' is going to the beach. You smile. You like the beach and you don't dread getting out of bed like you do most days, so that's lucky. You swing your legs over the side and you laugh and talk in a carefree way as you pack bags and picnic baskets and get dressed. Chara has a body now, and that body is careful to always adorn itself in the same way you do. You are twenty-six now, and the two of you are known lovers but far more akin to best friends, to twins. You help them apply sunscreen while they call Toriel and say that they'll all meet at the beach in an hour.

You take the surface train line all the way down. It's a forty-five minute trip with one transfer in-between, and the train is exciting. You love the new world you live in, you've helped to make it a good place and there are so many monsters and humans living in peace nearby. The world is kinder and maybe you helped make it that way.

You watch the sunny city streets and trees pass in fast-forward motion, Chara thumbing through their phone to create a beach playlist from their music at the last minute. You make sure they include a few of your favorites and try to get them to delete some embarrassing files, but that venture falls flat. Chara rarely feels ashamed and it's one of their best- and worst- qualities.

You hold their hand and squeeze it when you feel a moment of loving tenderness, but just as they go to open their mouth and speak to you, their phone rings. You stiffen.

It's Toriel.

You let go of their hand as they answer the call and it goes on...for a while. They laugh and exchange a few jokes, and Chara asks if you want to say anything but you just smile and feel the weight of the protein bar you ate before you left the house. It sinks in your stomach like an anchor and you wonder if, when the time comes, you'll be able to leave your seat.

Chara ends the call (it was, to perhaps most normal people, a reasonable length of time for a phone call to one's mother on public transport) and tries to resume the kindness you were exchanging before, but you can feel that this is what has marked the day for disaster. You try to recapture the moment too, but it's gone, and you wonder if Chara knows that.

You sort of hope not.

You arrive at the beach and as you're searching for a spot, you can't help but notice your _own_ phone buzzing. Chara is laughing and it seems you have been included in a massive group text exchange. Sans, Toriel, Chara, Papyrus, and Undyne are among the rest of the recipients. You smile at some of the puns and type your appropriate reaction, but ultimately you are annoyed. That annoyance takes hold even tighter when Chara makes some superstar pun and nobody will shut up about how great it is.

You could make greater. Chara says your jokes are funnier than theirs. Why doesn't everyone say that? Why doesn't everyone praise _you_ that way? Why is it that it always seems like the world tells you how good you are _and then nothing real comes of it?_

You bubble and boil as you lay out the large beach towels and stick the umbrella in the sand. Chara doesn't know you're upset, how could they? Even though you share a SOUL, you have become so good at pretending- playing the game of the good pacifist- that not even your most close and kind companion knows when you are true and when you are false.

You prefer it that way. It gives you time to seethe and become angrier still that they don't notice and aren't helping. It's not _your fault_ you got so good at pretending, it's what everyone _wanted_! Everyone asked for you to be good, so you acted it all out, and you did it all right, and now everyone is punishing you by telling you that you should be more open, you should be more honest, you should be something else!

So they wanted good, and they got good, but now they want you back to bad again? That's not right. That can't be right. You are expected to be good. That is what you are, that is all you are.

You are just furious that being good is no longer celebrated. It is standard. you have to do _better_ than good. Saving a race of magical monsters and fighting for their integration into human society- that isn't enough anymore.

You feel bile rise inside you and you sit down on the towel furthest to the left. You take some deep breaths and you look over and Chara is smiling at you.

"I am glad you are in good spirits, Frisk. Today is going to be fun."

If only they _knew_. If only they could feel what you're feeling, if only they could taste the toxin on your tongue! Everything had started out fine, but now you are spiraling downward again, and you cannot find the breaks if they exist at all. You are mad at them for being better than you. You are mad at them for not loving you even more than they already say they do. You are mad at them for their success and their independence and their rosy cheeks. You are mad at them and you love them. You are mad _for_ them.

You put on the brave face of the good person as everyone arrives. It is unfortunate that Toriel is first. You haven't really wanted anything to do with her for the longest time, but now you are caught between wanting to scream at her and wanting her to love you. You know this is because she is so close to Chara again. You want her to love you more than she loves Chara, or _**go away forever**_. You cannot accept any other option. You hate the way she laughs like she didn't personally escort six children to their deaths and let two of her very own pass from entirely avoidable circumstances. You hate the way she smooths her paws over Chara's hair to fix it like she isn't the selfish goat who let her voicemail pile up with your sobbing, desperate whispers for comfort and help. You hate the way she hugs you so tightly and warmly, like she hasn't lost all her motherly privileges over you since the moment she locked you out of the RUINS to selfishly spare her own feelings.

You hate Toriel, but you hate more that she does not adore you as much as she adores Chara, and yes, it is quite that way. There is no such thing as equal love. Parents have favorite children, teachers have favorite students, and you are no longer anybody's favorite anymore.

On the train ride home, you open your mouth to tell Chara the truth. You get a text and look at it first.

_Did you arrive home safely Frisk? Chara does not like me to worry, but I know you will be honest with me. ]:)_

How are you supposed to hate that? How dare she be so kind to someone she doesn't favor so much as the person sitting beside you? You are revolted and disgusted and you hate yourself more than you could ever hate her.

_We're almost home! Not yet. I'll text you when we get inside._

Chara kisses your cheek and tells you in your ear that you really did well today, they are proud of you. They are not condescending or patronizing. They mean it. They know how you struggle and they're so happy you didn't break down even once all day; not on the outside, anyway.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and by the time you exhale you're laying in bed with the lights off and the world still. What would you say? What would you possibly use to phrase it? _Why haven't you told me jokes in a group text so everyone can see? Why haven't you praised my jokes where everyone can see? Why haven't you loved me publicly enough? Why must you talk of your mother and family with care in your eyes? Why do people love you more than me? Why have I become irrelevant, yet am still required to play the Pacifist Hero? I have no accolades and yet I am asked every moment to be good when I am not, to be kind when I am cruel, to be loving when I want to slice open everyone's chests and make them choose between loving me most or_ _ **dying**_ _?_

What's truly sick is that you know the way they would react. They would apologize for not paying you more mind, they would tell you that everything is going to be alright, they would kiss you and hold you and cater to your every need for hours, they would make active decisions to try and make you more comfortable. They would do everything they could to fix the way you feel, oblivious to the fact that none of it matters since you had to bring it up and it doesn't count if you have to ask for it. You know they love you so much. What makes you sickness, what makes you poison and toxin and suffocating ocean water filling up the lungs of every creature who slips beneath your surface- is that sometimes love isn't enough for you. Sometimes you need to drain the very life source of a person for your own, you need to be their world and everything they care about, you need to be the top priority at all times. You need to know that nothing and nobody could ever come before you.

 

Sometimes you cannot show mercy, no matter what the medallion pinned to your soul says.

 


	5. A Letter

_There are people in life more complicated than me, but in exchange, they ask less of you than I do._

_I am simple. I want you, whole, or not at all. I want you crushed beneath the weight of my love for you, or I want to grind against your bones until there is nothing left but unfiltered dust. I want everything you have to give me or I want nothing, and that includes your vitriol._

_I spit acid so far that whole countries can remain oblivious while oceans away something is burning and dying. It's a miracle that my touch is infectious and yet localized. I am precise, I am agile, I am built for destruction because everybody believes I was built for salvation._

_Yes, I am simple. I am simply terrible. Others can be multifaceted gems in piles of rubble, others can be layered cakes stacked beautifully one at a time, others can be every shade of red and orange and pink in the sunset. They can be complicated, with ugly parts and pretty parts and things to love and things to hate. They are not easy to love, but they are always the better choice. I am easy to love because I love you more than I love anything in the world, I give my whole life to you, my body and soul and time and energy and I go too far and I spend too much and I sacrifice over and over and nothing could drive me away from you, you can do no wrong, you are my angel, you are everything to me, and who wouldn't love worship? Who wouldn't love me for loving them so wholeheartedly?_

_I have one color, and it is red. I have one purpose, and it is to **murder.**_

_If I can't have you, and I can't make you stay...then what, you ask?_

_Well, why do you think **Ragnarok** exists? Why do you think the legends speak of God's unrelenting plagues upon Egypt? What stories in the bible mention the flooding of the Earth as an act of wrath? I'm not a god, I have no desire to be righteous, but I will reduce our world **to ashes** if you retreat from me._

_And yet, for a moment..._

 

_...for a moment..._

 

_I thought of you, happy, without me. I thought of your laughter far away, where I couldn't reach it. I thought of the way your heart would grow to encapsulate the little kindnesses of others. I thought of every chance you'd ever given me to have it all and more. I thought of the bright future ahead of you, if I could just unhinge my jaw, if I could just pry my filthy claws off of you, and let you go..._

_And the strangest thing was, as I watched the poison dripping from my fangs land on clean flowers around your feet, I felt something familiar. Something that has happened only once before in my miserable excuse and attempt at life._

 

_I felt that I loved you the way one human should love another, and I deigned not to rip you apart, but to set you **free**._

 


	6. Chapter 6

You know it best: a hero is just a martyr with a future in acting.

You feel martyrdom curl tight around the sad little approximation of a heart you have. You overexert yourself just to feel the adoration that comes with sympathy, with pity. You're not above taking pity. You're not above _anything_ , but people insist on putting you somewhere in the clouds because you saved a race of monsters purely for the praise the news casters would give you later.

You figure it's their own fault. They don't analyze their heroes properly, they don't even care, really, they just want someone to glorify. People look for a place to put heroism on as much as they look to place blame, sometimes moreso. The people love a champion, a hero, a victor, a soldier.

What they love most is a martyr who can perform the part of a hero, even if they don't know it.

You volunteer non-stop. You are rarely home. Chara is asleep when you leave and when you come home. You find that there are infinite positives in the new routine you've created for yourself. You leave before dawn to give hard-working hours to soup kitchens and shelters and charity organizations, you speak at schools and agree to so many public appearances that it feels as though the world is fresh again, new again; back so many years ago when you'd just emerged from Mt. Ebott. The truth is, that was over a decade ago, and the only reason you're being given any press is because of the new measure passing in government.

Monster integration _worldwide_ , not just _nation_ wide. America was fine, but monster population had grown, and your 'bold decision' was to urge Congress to get together with world leaders to help monsters spread and give them a better life. This decision wasn't actually to help monsters, it was to refresh your face in the public eye, but only you need to know that for now.

The plus sides to your new life are endless. Chara misses you, asks after you, wants you to be with them. You were mad at them, because _just_ as you predicted, they got their own body and everything came to fruition after a couple years of work. The trip to the beach two weeks ago cemented it: you were losing Chara, and you were furious that they had friends who liked them better than you, and you wanted to show _everyone_ what a valuable asset you were.

So you left them. You arranged your schedule to be so jam-packed that you were always running out the door, always too busy, always in a hurry. Nobody got to speak with you unless they had a microphone in their hand. You made sure of it. You wanted people to **feel** your absence, to be worried for you, to admire your hard work and urge you to 'slow down'. You wanted that more than anything, and boy, when you were determined- well, look at what you could _do!_

On top of giving everyone what was coming to them by leaving them, you get the excitement of the press and the less fortunate returning to hero-worship of you. So many people have asked 'how you do it' and you don't actually conceal the dark circles under your eyes when they give you makeup to put on for television. You want everyone to see the fruits of your labor, to notice how hard you are working. You want everyone to feel touched and inspired and _lesser than you_ because look, here you are, volunteering until you fall asleep on live television, and there _they are_ just sitting on their couches and doing nothing to help the poor and homeless and needy.

You drink it in. You're sick and you don't care. Everyone wants a hero, so that's what you are. A hero. A _real_ hero, who does good deeds and basks in the glow of the attention afterward. You're yawning your way to the front door, you open it and then close it behind yourself, and you're so used to coming home to darkness that it startles you when the light is on. You go to turn it off and see Chara standing at the kitchen island with an entire chocolate cake, a fork, and a sad look.

"Chara- it's one in the morning. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I haven't seen you in two weeks, Frisk. Not even for a moment." Their tone is tense, and it is unlike them to cut you off. Something is very, very wrong. You are not just in trouble- a change is on the horizon. There is a twist in the air you have never liked before and dread now.

"What have you been doing?"

"Well, I don't know if you've seen, but I've been volun-"

"That is not what I mean. Do not play games with me. I am tired."

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"You have been avoiding me. Avoiding everyone. You have been overworking yourself long past the amount that normal martyrs would."

At least they aren't blind. At least they sometimes see the flash of your scales in the dark. "I'm tired too. Can't we talk about this later?"

"No. There is not going to be a later, Frisk. We're talking now."

"...What do you mean, no later?"

"I am not blind. You are not stupid. We used to share a mind, a body. I know you more intimately than anyone could ever know another person. You are unhappy and have been for years. I do not understand why, suddenly, you cannot even talk to me about it. It was never a problem b-"

"Before." You interrupt, something like ice crackling and hissing its way around your insides. It's sharp and it stings and you feel it. This is the beginning of the end. "Before you got a body, and started leaving me bit by bit. What, are you going to do it for real now?"

".... _ **What?**_ " They sound so genuinely _surprised_. They sound almost incredulous. You take it back- Chara _is_ kind of stupid, apparently.

"Well? Are you going to leave me?" You sound impatient. Not one bit affected, but impatient.

"...I...Frisk- no! I'm not!" They're angry. _Good._

"Why not?" You want them to pick up the knife in the kitchen drawer six paces away and use it on you. You are destroying your own world from this moment on, it is a conscious decision and you hate yourself for making it. "You got a body, and made new friends, and you have your parents back, and I, suddenly, hate spending time with you. Don't you want to leave someone who can't handle that? Don't you want to be free?" But god, you hate yourself for being _**made**_ at all.

Chara seems speechless. Seems being the key word. The silence is devastating, but you are determined, and you do not move or speak. It is Chara's move.

They make it.

"I understand your jealousy. It's hard to adjust to-"

"Are you serious? Don't give me that bullshit, Chara. Stop making excuses. Stop being a little therapist."

"Frisk, look, I understand that-"

"No!" You slam your hands down on the kitchen island that is between you and Chara doesn't flinch. "No, you _don't_ understand, because you are _never_ threatened! You are never in danger of losing me, you are never ignored, you are never pushed aside, you are always my only concern! You are my whole world, you are everything I care about, I would throw away every last human being in my life for you, every last monster, I would level the Earth! I would do anything for you, I would give up everything! You _don't_ understand, Chara! You are a balanced person with lots of different, healthy relationships, you have fun with others and you know how to share and, hell, if none of this is true, you're so good at repressing things that you might as well be good at it all to begin with! At least you pretend, at least you have anyone to love, _at least you've given life a fighting chance!_ I won't have anything to do with anything that isn't _**you.**_ "

The room is quiet. In your tirade you have done nothing but shout but somehow there are fat, wet drops on your cheeks. You want to collect them and drink them to choke and drown because how _dare_ you cry, how dare you? Not now. Not _now._

"...It's... _not_ healthy, that I'm the only valuable relationship in your life right now, Frisk. I agree with that sentiment. I know how much I mean to you, I do. And I am - grateful."

"You're sick, is what you are." You spit. "Grateful? Grateful that I want to cage you like a fucking pet? Grateful that I have been trying for years to punish you when I thought you weren't loving me like you should? Grateful that even now I am thinking of all the ways this is going to end with me getting what I want or getting you out of my life, Chara?! Are you grateful!? Be grateful!" You spread your arms wide, dramatic, and you try to smile, but you're not the one who laughs when you cry. That's just Chara. "Look at the possibilities!"

"Frisk, you know I can't be...everything for you. You _know_ it's not fair to expect me to always be around, to always love only you, to only pay attention to you. If you know that, then why-"

"Because you chose a broken one, Chara. You chose the wrong fucking **hero** , didn't you? You made a mistake and now you're paying for it. We all have to pay. Don't you listen when I tell you I'm awful?! Don't you listen to me at all?"

"Of course I do."

"Then how can you not understand? What do I have to say to show you? **I am not a good person**. I never have been. _Never._ I help others to benefit myself, I sabotage anyone who threatens my spotlight, I hold what's mine so tight it breaks! I love you with all of my little broken bits but you will never, ever love me back, you will never _understand_ what it's like to watch someone you have devoted everything to laugh at someone else's joke! You will never _understand_ what it's like to spend every waking moment _waiting_ for the person you love most in the world to come home or look at you or talk to you, because you have a life now! You have other people, other places! I have nothing but YOU! And I don't want anything else! I don't want other friends, I don't want family, I don't want ANYONE but you, and I want to be ENOUGH!"

You are screaming. Tears are flowing so freely they make your head hurt. You are sobbing and you are melting and you are _pathetic_.

"I just want to be enough! I want to satisfy someone the way they satisfy me! I want to be all you care about, like you are all I care about! Why can't I have this?! Why can't I have you!? This whole stupid world is like sand in my hands and I can't keep it all together before it leaves me! You'll leave me and I'll applaud you because you need to turn and run _as fast as you can_ and _never look back_ , you - you - need to get away from me, I'll never be enough for anyone, _**why am I not enough?!**_ "

It is quiet for a full five minutes. Chara doesn't really move. You don't either. You cry and shake and sob and whimper but you don't move and you don't call out for them and you don't know what to do or say next.

You wonder why you have never been enough for anyone in your life.  
You wonder why you insist upon ruining every good thing that happens to you.  
You wonder why you keep falling in love with people who will never understand your devotion to them.  
You wonder why there are arms around you, why you collapse into them.

 

You wonder what it's like to be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xDlEXO4UJs


	7. DETERMINATION

_**And so they fell apart.** _

_**Quietly, silently, softly** _

_**they toppled down and** _

_**the divide between them** _

_**grew wider every moment.** _

_**They fell apart and nothing** _

_**could save them but the very** _

_**thing that had brought them** _

_**together in the first place:** _

_**DETERMINATION.** _

__

Unfortunately, giving up is in the nature of the wounded,

And wounded is certainly what they are.

Unfortunately, sometimes even determination is just

 

not enough.

 


	8. Chapter 8

In movies and television shows, sometimes, there is some kind of special effect that shows a person standing entirely still, and the world moving around them. The pace of the people and the places around them pick up gradually, until it is a blur of color and motion, and sometimes this is categorized as a passage of time; but it is really a feeling.

You know this feeling intimately. People insist that change is inevitable, but you are the living and breathing embodiment that this is not a rule, it is a guideline. You have stayed stationary in a world screaming at you to _move_ and punishing you when you refuse. You are an immovable object. You do not move because you like where you are, and you will take the lashings the world has to give you if it means you can stay stationary.

But god, does it get harder every second.

You do not fall out of love with people, places, things, concepts. You hold onto everything, you hate absorbing the new, you actively and insistently avoid all of the brand new that makes people excited, that rushes light into the eyes of friends and foes. You do not involve yourself in anything new. You scowl and glare and comment that everyone is _**abandoning you**_.

Because, when one does not move with the world, one does feel abandoned, left behind, left to _rot_.

You only want to remain relevant. You want to remain important and exciting and loved, but it's so very hard when you don't want to let go of the old pearls to your chest. You won't keep up with the world, you expect it to stay behind, with you. It might sound unreasonable, but you don't see it that way. It's just little changes you can't make.

You can't enjoy the new book series Chara likes so much, because the one you two read together was special. Now all they can talk about is the new one, you know it, you hear it, and you _**loathe**_ those who engage in the discussion. You want to remain relevant, but you don't want to take part in this ridiculous new thing, you want to be loved and cherished, not pitied- not desperately scrambling to feign interest and keep up with theirs.

You can't enjoy the new home Toriel buys for herself and several adopted children. You loved the old furniture even if you didn't like being there very much. You don't set foot in that place no matter how many times Chara pleads quietly with their eyes. You don't want anything to do with the smell of fresh paint and plush carpet.

Yes, you can't enjoy the new, because the old was so much better- but every day you agonize over being abandoned, you hurt over the visions swimming in your head of everyone dreading having to speak to you for how boring and past you are. You have forced yourself into newness before, and it ends in ruin every time; you are just competing all over again, still scrambling for dignity and respect and attention.

At least when you stay behind, people pay attention if you cry out loud enough.

* * *

Still, this time, change doesn't give you a choice.

You look down at your hands as Chara talks. They are gentle and they are soft and god how is it that _you_ are the hero? How is it that Chara is not the ethereal angel cast down to the Underground to save Monsterkind? You wish you could have switched. You want to experience the pain of dying at the stems and petals of pretty yellow buttercups, you want to burn your throat with acid and smell the fragrance as you twist and cough and writhe and cry. You want to take that experience from this beautiful face before you, trying to be delicate, always so fucking soft with you, so- so unbearably _fucking kind-_

"Please stop," you rasp, your throat hoarse. You cried so hard last night you can't make it sound right. "Please, Chara, you - just need to tell me the truth. What do we do now?"

"...Truthfully, I don't know. You have a lot to work out."

"I know. I know, I tried to warn you. I'm-"

"Not the least of which is treating yourself better, Frisk. You are loved, why do you insist on disrespecting and disregarding all of the love in your life? Do you think I am lying? Do you think anyone is lying when they say that they enjoy your company?"

"I've told you, they don't know me."

"And what of me? I know you, Frisk."

"...I can't explain you. I just know that I won't be satisfied until I have you to myself, until you love me as much as I love you, until - until - I've ruined us."

"Frisk...I _do_ love you."

"I'm not enough. You need others. You like others. You don't love me enough to have **only** me." You press your palms into your eyes. How many times do you have to explain it? Why doesn't Chara understand?

"How much I love you has nothing to do with my other relationships. Why do you want me to isolate myself and contain my attention for you?"

"I don't know-"

"Don't give me that." Chara sounds tense. Your posture perks.

"No, I really don't know, Chara, I-"

"Why do you want me to yourself?"

"I don't _know-_ "

"Why, Frisk? Are you angry at me? Is this revenge? Is-"

"No!"

"What, then? I haven't given you reason not to trust me, have I?"

"Chara, no!" You're desperate now. You hate that look on their face, it's becoming cold and you want to reach out and assure them nothing that is wrong with you is because of a wrong they have done. You have never been done wrong by Chara, you have never been hurt by them, never been...

"Then WHAT is it?" Chara _hisses_ their words, like you're back in the Underground and all the progress has been lost. Chara is back to what they used to be, for a moment, and it elicits a response.

"I'm scared!" you _shriek_ the answer but it comes out as barely a noise at all for how your throat has been abused. "You tolerate me now, somehow, you love me now, for some reason, _somehow_ you're here, but later you won't! If you talk to all these people I will be left behind, and you will hate talking to me, and you won't tell me until it's too late, and then- and then-" your shoulders shake and you feel like crying again, but no tears escape. You're so tired of crying. "I'm scared, I can't lose you, I don't have anything else, I- I know you'll get tired of me, if you know others, better people, everyone's so much better and I'm- I'm- I'm a mess, you could go anywhere and find better, you could be so much better with someone else! Any day now you'll be talking to someone and you'll realize it, you'll think about what hard work it is to be with me, and how boring I can be, and how exhaustive all the same subjects are, over and over again, and- and you'll _**leave me.**_ "

The room is quiet for a while when you finish. You've never said it out loud before. You wonder if Chara is going to leave you, walk out the door and finally put themself first.

"...That would never happen." They answer, and you open your mouth but Chara stops you. "Is what I would say if I knew it would help you, but it won't. You're in your own head. Nothing is going to pull you out of it but yourself, and you don't seem...willing, or able. I don't know how else to help you."

You feel something crack inside you. You want to check your SOUL, because you're pretty sure it has shattered into several bits. Chara turns their back on you and locks their fingers behind their back. They look so rigid, you can't understand their tone of voice anymore...

"I can't promise you forever. I am not infallible. I know myself, and I know that sometimes, I...drift away and pull back. I stop talking to people, and eventually, we are divided enough that I simply leave them out of my life. I cannot promise this won't happen to us. I want to tell you I am forever, that we are going to be together always, but- I can't. That's the trouble with me. I am volatile just like you."

You want to vomit, but there's nothing in your stomach to push out, so you just feel disgusting. You feel your heart breaking.

"However..." they turn and look at you, really look at you, and you feel smaller than you've ever felt before. "I love you to a degree I cannot quite explain in words. That will keep us lasting for a very, very long time, I think. Clearly, though, this..isn't working for you. Your jealousy and self-esteem are destroying you from the inside out, and I love you too much to watch it continue and sweep up the pieces."

"So what do we do?" You whisper. Your voice is shaking as much as your hands.

"I don't know." Chara responds, just as softly. "All we can do is keep trying, Frisk. I love you. I am here, and you are never going to be replaced, and that is all I can offer you. I don't know if there's a solution beyond that."

In movies and television shows, you can see the changes. As Chara wraps their arms around you and holds you for _hours_ that day, you cannot fathom the changes taking place. The world only looks still to those standing in the eye of it.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that nobody exists outside these four walls and a ceiling.

You wish you could roll the credits on this frame.

 


	9. Chapter 9

You would love to say that Chara was stuck with you, that Chara didn't have a choice but to stay with you, that because you shared a SOUL they were forced to remain in your company- but it was not true. Not anymore, at least.

You had been sure that with the new body Chara had, they would fade out of your life as easily as they had faded into it. You were positive that they would leave you, that the only reason they had stayed at all was because they had no other alternative way to exist; but apparently you were wrong. Chara got a body, and despite everything, they had stayed. It had been two long years of Chara's independence, and your meltdowns had been around since the start of your relationship in varying degrees of severity; but they stayed.

For some reason- maybe punishment, maybe obligation, maybe guilt- they stayed with you.

They shared a bed with you, never intentionally spent a night away from you, always wrapped their arms around your middle and pressed their face into your neck when you cried instead of slept. They kissed your fingers even when they shook with self-hatred, and cooked you meager meals when you didn't eat for a day or two.

They well and truly seemed to _love_ you.

So it can't be that every chapter in the story of your life is terrible. There _are_ good days, good nights. The chronicles of a journey often only indicate milestones, and whispering _I love you_ , _I love you too, I love you so much, I love you so much too,_ is a lover's tale nobody really wants to hear. The sweetness and the kindness are not milestones, they fade into the background, they blend together with everything else and become lost in the noise of the sadness and gut-wrenching aches that milestones often make.

* * *

 

It's Sunday. You largely spend the day cleaning, and it makes you feel productive. You don't talk to anyone, or eat anything, but you listen to music and clean whole rooms from top to bottom. It feels good to see visible signs of progress and positive movement. It proves that you _can_ do things without fucking up, that you _are_ capable of something good; that your hands don't always bring destruction. It takes your mind away from the little whispers of insecurity that tell you you're worthless and everyone is going to leave you someday.

You sing to yourself and sit on the floor surrounded by books, reading the titles of each and deciding whether or not to keep them. Some you need, some are essential to your Ambassador work, but others have been proven outdated and incorrect, so you throw them out. You flip through unrelated fiction and non-fiction works to see if you're interested, and mostly you're not. You keep everything you've ever seen Chara glance at, and everything they've read already.

Chara comes home from shopping and you help them put groceries away. You listen to their tales as the both of you navigate around one another like liquid; you always move so well in unison, avoiding collisions and narrowly missing each other again and again. You pause when you take out your favorite cereal, one you didn't ask them to get, and you smile at them. They don't notice for a while, but when they do, you tell them you're just happy. They smile too, and don't question it. Now you're even happier.

You spend a few hours with them, letting them help you clean house. Eventually you two get distracted and sit on the ground just talking, soft, close together. You sit cross-legged between Chara's spread legs and hold their hand while the other one is pressed flat, palm-to-palm against theirs, holding them up at about shoulder-level. They speak softly about what they think will happen in five years for monsterkind. You listen and you nod and sometimes you agree verbally while inspecting the differences in your hands and theirs. Chara notices your intent focus on hands and goes quiet to indicate the fact that they are asking you a silent question about it.

You finally look at their eyes and fold your fingers in theirs so that both hands are tightly holding Chara's, and then you kiss them. You kiss them softly, slowly, and with no real physical depth. They return it and you don't know how long you spend kissing them like that, but it's sunset when you notice that you should turn a light on or finish cleaning up or _something_.

You reluctantly get up, Chara finishes putting away all the projects that were started that day, and you start the fireplace. It's getting cold out. You head to the kitchen and ask Chara what they want for dinner, and they tell you chocolate cake. You laugh, and you make pasta, but you also make chocolate cake. You hit the back of Chara's hand so many times it's red with residual contact by the time you sit down to eat; they like to sneak fingers into the batter before you're good and ready for that.

You eat dinner at the kitchen table and it's actually just quiet. Chara eats like the food is going to disappear, and they always have. You eat like a bird, pecking and pressing and being fussy about what touches and how to eat it. Chara never teases you for that, just gets second helpings while you still finish your first, and they know by now never to look at you when you eat and never to ask you any questions about eating in general.

You appreciate it more than they will ever know.

Chara washes dishes, you dry them. You prop your phone up and read shitty knock-knock jokes out loud until Chara laughs so hard they cry, because you love Chara's laugh. You love everything about them. You can't imagine living a life without them in it.

You get comfortable pajama pants on and wear a big t-shirt to bed. Chara wears pretty much the same. You both settle down in front of the fire, and you are glad that you put the television above the fireplace now. You lean back against Chara's chest and their chin rests on your head while the two of you watch television, talk about it sometimes, laugh about it a lot.

It's very late before you even start feeling sleepy. Chara is wide awake. You end up kissing again, long and slow and smooth, and sometimes Chara mumbles some shitty pun and you smile so much that it forces you both to stop for a few minutes and laugh together. It's bliss. It's everything you keep living for. Chara's fingers play with yours near your stomach and you feel so warm and soft inside and out.

The fire dwindles and you feel sleepy. Your eyes pinprick with tears, and Chara frowns very fast.

"What is wrong, Frisk?"

"I...I just love you." You kiss them again, and this time it's different. It's almost forceful. Your eyebrows are drawn together and your whole face looks twisted up in pain when you do it. You don't break it, Chara does. It's a very long kiss.

"...I'm not going anywhere, Frisk. I would hope that you aren't, either." they press their nose into your cheek affectionately, and you nod.

"No...no. Never. You make everything worth staying. You make me...you make everything okay."

"I know you won't believe me, but you make every single day a little bit better for me, too, Frisk. I'm not afraid of you. I won't leave you. I just don't want you to leave me because you're scared that I will do things I promised not to do already."

You close your eyes and take a deep, shaky breath. You nod. You almost apologize, and they stop you.

"I will be your SOULmate _**forever**_ , Frisk."

* * *

 

Chara _feels_ like forever. You kiss them like the whole world is ending tomorrow because you don't know how you will be, what you will say. You have to treasure every moment that things are good because you hurt both them and you when things are bad. They're not always bad. There are days like these. There are days that start bad and end like these. There are days that you don't feel happy or sad, just alive. Things aren't always terrible. You still have chocolate cake, bad jokes, and Chara.

Someday you will be better for them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tt7Bo-zCWYk


	10. Chapter 10

You're not sure why people have become so fascinated with becoming natural disasters, or weather forecasts, but you can't categorize yourself among them. You are not a singular hurricane, one tornado, not even a tsunami- you're the apocalypse.  _ **You**_ are all of the terrible people rolled into one. You know it to be wholly and irrevocably true. If you didn't have proof before, you have it now:

Chara wants to give up on you.

Despite everything, all the promises and forevers and steps forward and back (some rhythmic dance you make, something killer and deadly; maybe you're only the black half of the swan after all), you've messed up so badly that you are sure there is no fixing it. You stare in horrible, gut-wrenching silence as Chara holds a mug in their hands. It's tea, and you don't even have to see the color of the liquid to know it's Asgore's blend. They drink it on special occasions, and you suppose this is very special. 

You're pretty sure this is how you get dumped by the person who shares your SOUL.

* * *

 

You had fallen into a fairly deep well, a dark and cavernous hole in the ground where the serpents named Depression and Anxiety live. They are your captors and your friends all at once, the only partners you've ever felt will truly stay with you through everything. They have a tolerance, a diligence, a loyalty to you that not even Chara possesses. You had stopped trying to crawl out of it. For the first time, you allowed it to swallow you. You  _became_ the water-dwelling snakes. You were unrecognizable and you  _knew_ it.

You knew what you were doing, and you didn't stop it, and really- isn't that the mark of a true villain?

Chara tried to talk to you often. They tried to lift your spirits. You didn't leave bed and they worried all day that you were just sleeping everything away, but you were...fine. You were not sad, or angry, or anxious, you were just...vicious. You knew this would hurt them. You knew they would hate you most when you were nonresponsive, and you would hate them most when they were gone, and the two of you would swirl around each other in great, wide arcs; casting lasting shadows of damage to one another.

You were envious, you were hurt, and you lashed out at them by recoiling from them. They were anxious, they were hurt, and they reached out to you even further- causing you to retract. You hated that they hurt, but what else are you good for? What other function do you have? You couldn't make them truly happy, they will never be satisfied with you, you will never be  _enough_ for them; so what's the point? You'll hurt them until they leave you, and forever, you can cherish the memories of the attempts they made to get you back. You can remember that they wanted you at all, be it out of a sense of obligation or a true desire to keep you around.

It was day four when you cracked.

You pulled yourself out of bed and sat in the kitchen and you looked at them as they held a cup of tea in their palms. They looked at you, but their face had no true life in it. Their greeting was feigned. You knew them well enough to understand that. You barely whispered a response, and the silence went on...and on...and on. You couldn't take it anymore. You  _missed_ them, you missed how things used to be, how happiness felt between the two of you even if it was fleeting; now you want it back.

The trouble is...Chara is not, never has been, and never will be, a robot you can switch on and off. You played with them, and they...

They were sick of it.

* * *

 

"...We should talk." It's surprising, maybe, but you break the silence before they do.

"Okay." They are cordial, you can tell they are bracing themself. They take a long drink of tea, and you know it's too hot for them to be drinking at all because their fingers twitch, but they've never heeded those warnings. They've never cared if they got burned a little. "I've been worried about you, Frisk."

"I know...I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry I haven't been- around so much. I've been awful, and - and I feel terrible for it. ...I just- I want things to work out for us, really, really badly. I do. Please trust me when I say I really want us to work."

They don't answer. Silence reigns supreme for six whole minutes. Chara is thinking, and you are fighting a war in your own mind. You can't do it anymore.

"......Do you still want me in your life?"

They look startled.

"Please. Just- do you, or don't you, want me to remain in your life?"

They lick their lips. They're anxious. You feel a heavy stone dropping in your stomach, you feel the tidal waves of grief beginning to roll up, beginning to loom and cast a shadow. They threaten to wash over you, carry you deep, deep down, where that sorrow has been leaking into your heart through a pinhole like a forgotten faucet, where the jealousy is trapped and marring the walls, where the gluttony for attention is trying to gorge itself and drink it all down---

"You know, I admit- these last few days, when I was trying so hard to get you to talk to me, to come out of your room, I was asking myself if it was worth it. If I should keep trying. if this is something that can be saved. It was agony, Frisk." They look you dead in the eye. You can't cry, you don't know how, and even if you did, you're sure the tears are in your gut with the rest of your emotions. "I was relieved when you would go to sleep. I was so anxious about your well-being that I actually spoke to a few other people, albeit vaguely, about how stressed I was."

You know this isn't the only thing that caused this reaction. Your silent period is not the only thing at fault. It is all of you. The vast combination of everything you've ever done to hurt Chara has piled up, and it is seeping out, and you are sure this is the end of everything.

"I didn't have to worry about you when you were asleep. I didn't feel obligated to try and make you keep going. I thought that maybe, if this was how you were choosing to continue, we'd just drift apart, quietly. We'd just leave one another, a silent and mutual agreement..." 

You can't fathom that. You'd never  _agree_ to leave Chara. You'd go kicking and screaming and crying and...and...maybe you'd stop  _going_ completely.

"I'm sorry, I-I'm so sorry, Chara," you whisper, you're scared, you're terrified- the reality, the gravity is hitting you before the tidal wave can. You sink into the sand of your wrongdoings and you feel so heavily lodged, but you keep trying anyway. You will win or you will die. For the first time, you have a determination all your own. You keep talking.

"I knew what I was doing. I did. I knew I was making you worry, a-and, and I liked that. I wanted you to worry about me. I don't know- what's wrong with me, to make me do that, but it won't happen again. I never do that. You know I never do that, I've always talked to you about everything, or done my best to. I've never just shut down like that, and I knew you were trying so hard, and I - I kept giving you bad responses on _purpose_. I did it and I knew what I was doing and - and - I'm horrible for it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, it was so bad, I'm- I won't do it again. I won't. Please, I swear it, I will  _never_ do that to you again."

You're a child who has been pushing the envelope, and today you found out what it's like when you break it. You didn't expect that. For so long you've been shoving and squirming and pushing and never once has it threatened to rip, but this time...this time, with that look on their face, and that pressing, suffocating tidal wave threatening to grip you tight and fall all over you...water is filling up your lungs as you are stuck in the sand wondering. You messed up. You  _really_ messed up.

"I love you." you feel your voice crack so much that the words are silent. There is no sound on those notes. Chara knows you said it, but they look at you and you are sure you have taken on the appearance of the serpents you have been curled around for four days.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

* * *

 

 **a·poc·a·lypse  
əˈpäkəˌlips**  
 **noun**  
 **noun: Apocalypse; noun: the Apocalypse; noun: apocalypse; plural noun: apocalypses**  
1. the complete final destruction of the world  
2. an event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale.  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would mean a lot to me if you guys would continue to comment. Thank you very much for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

The times before Chara knew the ink-stained parts of you are foggy. You wonder if they ever happened at all.

* * *

 

The bond was instantaneous. Upon leaving the Underground, you and Chara shared something beautiful and special; something unique and purely your own. Your SOUL was bound to theirs, they confided in you so quickly and easily it was almost startling. You were there to hear their every grievance, you were always a listening ear; you were as kind and gentle to them as you were to every monster you SPARED on your journey. You held them as they cried and shook, you rubbed their back and shushed them when they felt they were crumbling and cracking. You poured liquid love into their ears with whispers of affection and breathy laughter and bad jokes. You soothed their worries and their fears and you made them listen to you sing their praises. You held them when you fell asleep and joy was all you had to give them.

_You_ were supportive. You were _happy_.

When the world rushed up to greet you, Chara wasn't jealous, wasn't bitter, wasn't insecure. They always felt secure in your love for them, always felt that you would make special time for them- and you did. You always managed to clear your life for long conversations and more cathartic venting. You were dedicated, loyal,  _in love_.

You still don't know how, or when it happened, that the bitter blackness crept out of the caverns of your heart and started to nestle into your relationship. The tendrils of jealousy peeked over the ridges of your heart and caressed the little parts of you that were always scared. They cradled the corners of you that had been hurt before. They reminded you that, in the end, everybody leaves you. That you are never enough, and you never will be. They drew forth the memories of every failed friend and every disastrous falling out you'd ever had. 

_They find somebody better, and they leave you, because you are not the best option, you are not first place, you are not the goal. You are the side-quest, the visitation, the fleeting season- you are not the Happily Ever After. You never could be._

Enjoying relationships was hard after the dark shapes had begun to gnaw at your chest and your stomach alike. You looked at everyone with skepticism. You were waiting for the moment that they would leave you, would hurt you by moving on, moving forward without you. You _remembered_ your life before falling down into that mountain, you recalled how things  _actually_ were. People would find you, cherish you,  _use your kindness and devotion_ , and then they would vanish in the blink of an eye, and there was no amount of begging and pleading that could change it. 

Chara was all you had, because they were so forced to stay with only you. When they finally got their body, it was a nightmare. The world loved them- loved them far more than they loved you. All you could do was desperately act out for attention, make a grand martyr of yourself, try so hard to catch the heart and mind of anyone who so much as brushed past you. You were drowning, terrified of being forgotten, in that dimly lit pool of murky revulsion. As you frantically twisted your limbs, writhed around and begged for help, you swallowed more and more of the terrible liquid until you became merely a  _vessel_ for the putrid substance.

You had welcomed it into your lungs and suffocated under its pressure, and now you were simply filled with it. You were a carrier for enmity, for revulsion, for possessive jealousy and broiling self-hatred. You clothed yourself in the glow of a hero and nobody was wiser to your plight. You thought Chara would know what it was like to be swaddled by a void, to be cherished only by the very devil that had ruined your life...and to some extent, they did.

Though, they are human, and they are soft, and they are kind, and the limits were reached eventually. They were always reached- but Chara held out the longest. Chara had stayed the sweetest. Chara had given you so much- and this time was different. This time, it would end with  _you_ having ruined it, with  _your_ pushing being the last straw. It would end and it would be your fault, not anyone else's. You would still be left begging, pleading, crying, desperate for them to return to you, willing to take any punishment, willing to be anyone they wanted you to be, willing to say or do anything they asked you to- willing to mutilate yourself for them...

But this time it was your fault, and yours alone. Chara had climbed above their station, and you had sunk so deep beneath that there was no light left to see. Chara could not fish you from the river and, truthfully, maybe you didn't want to come out. The warmth and the comfort of misery was easy, and welcoming, and familiar. They would walk away, and leave you there at the bottom, and you would scream until your throat was raw with the effort; but opening your mouth under waters like these just fills you with more of the behemoth, more of the villain's wine. It doesn't bring love back.

* * *

 

"...Yes."

You see their shadow above you in the river. You see them bending down, you watch them catch sight of your silhouette at the bottom of the thick, swampy waters.

"I still want you in my life. I know that much for certain. I love you."

You have never seen a hand pierce through the darkness before, but it is the most awe-inspiring sight in the world. Chara takes a sip of their tea, and looks at you for a long time, as you sit dumbstruck.

"I believe you can change. I believe in you."

It's a long way to the surface. You are weak from years of weightlessness. The light will burn your eyes and your skin as you ascend.   
But there is a hand to hold,  
                                           and you think that where there is a hand to hold, there _might_ be

                                                                                                                                               hope.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Breathe in.

You're a good person.

Despite the world and the way it has treated you, despite Chara and the way you have treated them, someone still loves you. Someone believes in you. You know that if you were not a good person, you wouldn't have even that. Chara would have abandoned you, and the world would have forgotten you. 

You still do the right things, you donate to charity and are gentle with even those who slight you. You continue to see all sides of the story and you anoint the people on the ends of those stories with your kind smile and your kind eyes and the kind of kindness people write parables for. It is easy to see the viewpoints of many when you know what it is like to be in the darkness, alone, lost, scared. 

You still cry.  
You still lash out.  
You still make mistakes.

But something is different, and it is change, and it is you. You are changing.

 

Breathe out.

"I'm not a good person."

"You don't have to believe me, and you don't have to apologize, but I know what _**I** _ believe. You're only a person. You make mistakes, and I know you are improving. I know you are trying. I love you, Frisk."

"I love you, too."

 

Maybe you can just be a person.

Maybe you can just breathe.


	13. Chapter 13

And so the world continued to turn.

There were rainstorms and hurricanes and tornadoes in your heart, there were leaks and tears and rips- and there always will be. The weather is ever-changing in the cavity of your ribcage, your little biodome, and you cannot turn the weather off. You will never be able to shut mother nature down, and you stop trying so hard to do so.

You grab a lifejacket and a first aid kit and you brave the waters, trudge through the sludge and the mud of your own emotion and impulse and self-discovery. You navigate the world with the same cloudy vision, but a better source of light.

No, things aren't perfect.

The ebb and flow of your relationships become normal. There are days you love with your whole heart and days you hate with your whole soul. There are nights you cannot sleep and days you sleep too much. There are weeks of productivity, there are months of lazing about- but you find help. You find something inside of you. You reach out from the depths of the river where you used to drown and there are always hands to hoist you up.

More than just one, now.

And someday you will learn to swim.  
You're almost there, you can feel it.

* * *

 

Breathe in.

You're a good person.

You love with your whole self. You laugh and smile. You love to make others laugh and smile with you. You are mindful of never depending on a singular person for all of your attention, your happiness, your fulfillment. You apologize only when you can name what you've done wrong. You tell people how to watch out for you. You make mistakes. You don't let them define you. You let your recovery define you instead.

You try. You carry on. The page turns, the sun rises; you are the hero that the Monsters always thought you were.  
Maybe they just saw in you what you could never see in yourself. Maybe that's the magic.

Or maybe you're just changing.

Breathe out.

You're a  **good person**.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> The summary of this fanfic is "This is not a story." because it's not. It is a chronicle of my struggle with Borderline Personality Disorder and "Cluster B" diagnosis. In real time, I wrote this story to depict how I felt about my situations and my friendships and relationships. I am coming back now to finally cast another entry to the diary of living with this difficult illness.
> 
> There will not be another chapter, but I am leaving it on "14", incomplete, because of what it means to me. You are never finished growing, improving, loving, and living. I am in a much better place than I was when I wrote those twelve chapters. The highs and lows still exist, I still have bad times and good times, but I know what ails me now. When I started, I did not. 
> 
> The point is that this was a "happy" ending- but probably not the one most people wanted to hear. Frisk did not magically get the miracle life they wanted- they have to earn trust, respect, and forgiveness. Maybe they never will. It's up to them. And ultimately, that is what Underale is about- choices. Choices entirely up to you. I made a choice to get help, to get better. We all make choices when we react. Life is a series of choices.
> 
> Please choose love, every time, even when it scares you.  
> Choose love.


End file.
